Hand-Picked Husband. HEATHER MACALLISTER

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      There was the pop of an engine backfiring.

      “Hector!” Maria stomped out onto the porch and shouted, “It’s about time you got here. Drive that truck around back.” Her voice faded as she went out to scold the tardy Hector.

      Clay made a tsking sound. “Buying a donation?”

      “Not at all.” Autumn opened the scrapbook again and flipped through the pages explaining about Yellow Rose Matchmakers. She blinked at the rate sheet, but then again, the agency promised to keep searching and matching until their clients were satisfied. “I’m going to sign up.”

      “You’re kidding.” Clay sat on the sofa next to her.

      Autumn scooted over. “Why? They screen the applicants, you fill out a detailed profile, and the computer fixes you up. Very efficient.”

      He studied the profile forms. “I don’t know... these forms ask a lot of questions. You might not want some guy you date to know the answers. That’s always assuming that the computer can possibly match you to anyone.”

      “Of course it’ll find a match!”

      He leaned back and grinned. “I don’t know, Autumn. Your bio is likely to freeze that computer right up.”

      She glared at him. “Anyone matched with you would demand a refund!”

      “Anyone matched with me would give the Yellow Rose ladies a bonus.”

      He was insufferable.

      “Prove it,” she challenged him. “Sign up.”

      Laughing, he shook his head. “I don’t need to prove anything.”

      But Autumn did. If she showed up at the ball with another man, that would be good, but if both she and Clay came with others, it would be great. “Dare ya.”

      It was a taunt from their childhood.

      Clay raised an eyebrow.

      “I dare you to bring your match to the Champion Buyers’ Ball.” Autumn was counting on his competitive streak where she was concerned.

      For a moment, she didn’t think he’d agree, then he slowly nodded. “Okay. But only if you’ll do the same.”

      Autumn stuck out her hand and grinned. “Deal.”

      They were shaking on their deal when Maria returned.

      She was more than happy to sign them up. “Fill out these forms, front and back.” She sat Autumn and Clay at a table in one of the offices. “You going to want a video?”

      “You didn’t mention a video,” Autumn pointed out.

      Maria waved her hands. “Don’t get me started on videos. I don’t like ’em. People don’t look good in videos. The camera makes them nervous. Besides, the machine isn’t working. My cousin, Ramon, is fixing it.”

      “We don’t need a video,” Clay assured her.

      “Good.” Maria smiled at them. “Holler if you have questions. I’m going to check on Hector and make sure he cleans all the way into the corners on those windows. And as long as he’s up there, he should clear out the gutters.”

      “Hector is going to wish he hadn’t taken this job,” Clay said as Maria hurried off.

      “Hector should have been on time. Speaking of which, we’re going to have to hurry if we don’t want to be late to the meeting.” Actually, they probably would be late, but Fred Chapman was notoriously lax about starting on time.

      “This doesn’t look like it’ll take much time to fill out.” Clay was already halfway down the first page.

      Autumn was stuck on the weight question. Should she put her actual weight or the weight she planned to be before the first match? “Wait until you get to the hard questions.” Weight wouldn’t be a hard question for Clay. He was a nice triangular shape. So was Autumn, only the triangle was more inverted than she liked.

      “What hard questions?”

      She looked at him. “Politics? Religion?”

      “I just put yes.”

      Autumn rolled her eyes. “You’re supposed to tell what your politics are and which religion.”

      “Okay, ndb and Texas.”

      “What is ‘ndb’?”

      “None of your... business.”

      “Clay! Just put conservative.”

      “I’m not all that conservative.”

      “Okay, try this.” Autumn thought a moment. “You’re at a Dallas Cowboys game and the ‘Star-Spangled Banner’ is being played by the Texas A&M University Marching Band. The man next to you refuses to stand, citing freedom of speech. What do you do?”

      “I’ll freedom-of-speech him to his feet!”

      Autumn pointed to the blank on the form. “Conservative. And Texas isn’t a religion.”

      He looked at her in mock outrage. “Don’t you go saying that around just anybody.”

      “Be serious.”

      “I am.”

      “Remember that the computer only knows what you tell it,” she said, quoting Maria.

      “So what are you putting down?” He turned her paper before she could stop him. “Hey—under Sports you put no.”

      “I don’t like sports.”

      “Yes, you do. You ride, you rope, and you were a pretty fair barrel racer.”

      “My barrel-racing days are past and the rest is work, not sport. Besides, I don’t want some man who’ll plop down in front of a big-screen television, click to a football game and call it a date just because he sprang for imported beer.”

      Clay eyed her. “Have you had dates like that?”

      She turned her paper back around. “Never more than once.”

      “So, what kind of dates do you like?”

      The overly casual tone caught her attention. She blinked.

      When she didn’t answer right away, Clay tapped the paper. “It’s number fourteen on the list.”

      “Oh.” Maybe he just wanted dating pointers. “I like dates with an activity and then going someplace for coffee or a meal afterward. I don’t like dinner, then a movie. I like the movie first.”

      “So...you still try to eat the jumbo tub of popcorn so you can get a refill and make yourself sick?”

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